Page 43 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
“She’s… she’s dead, isn’t she?” Raisa’s words were almost inaudible, like saying the words out loud would make it more real.
Zanetti nodded solemnly. “Yes. Her body was recovered earlier this morning, in a remote area outside of town. Wehave a positive ID. Beth Ashford came in and made the formal identification.”
Raisa’s eyes widened. “Beth? Why was Beth… Oh, her mother isn’t well.”
“That’s right. Besides, Beth and Vanessa were close for years, even if things were complicated recently,” Maloney continued. “Given the circumstances and their shared history, Beth wanted to help. She insisted on coming down to confirm it was her instead of putting that on a struggling mother.”
Quinten’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists on his lap. “Do you know how she died?”
“Blunt-force trauma to the head.” Maloney focused on him, and her expression hardened. “We’re still investigating what exactly happened with her.”
Raisa’s shoulders sagged as tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t believe this… Vanessa… I thought maybe she was alive, that she just needed to be found…”
“I know this isn’t the outcome anyone wanted.” Zanetti leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her, letting them rest on the folder.
“Do you think Devaney killed her friend?” Quinten had to ask.
“Devaney admitted to framing Vanessa as part of the cover-up, but she insists Vanessa’s death was either an accident or self-defense.”
“Do you believe her?” Quinten asked.
Maloney shook her head. “It’s hard to say. Her story has gaps, and we’re not taking anything at face value. What we do know is that based on her confession, we were able to locate Vanessa’s body. We’re waiting on the medical examiner’s full report, but the initial findings suggest what lead to her death. We’re not sure at this moment how that injury occurred.”
Quinten pulled Raisa close as she leaned into him, her body trembling.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The weeks since Vanessa’s body was discovered had been a blur of revelations, guilt, and grief. The police had held onto the remains, delaying the funeral until Devaney’s full confession had been secured. She had pleaded involuntary manslaughter and was now incarcerated, awaiting trial. Raisa couldn’t help the bitter thought that Devaney had managed to get away from Archie—only not in the way she’d wanted.
Devaney’s confession hadn’t surprised Raisa, but Beth’s unexpected apology had.
Two days after Vanessa had been found, Raisa had been stacking books in the sci-fi section when Beth walked into Winslow’s Shelf. Raisa froze mid-movement, and her grip tightened on the stack of books in her hands until the edges of the hardcovers dig into her palms.
A sour twist churned in her stomach. The sight of Beth standing inside the doorway was enough to dredge up a cascade of bitter memories. Beth, with her impeccable hair and sharp tongue that could cut deeper than any blade. One of the other girls might not be flanking her this time, but the shadow oftheir cruel dynamic hung heavy in the air, a reminder of every humiliation Beth had dealt her.
Raisa’s instinct was to turn away, to disappear into the back of the shop where she could busy herself with inventory or hide in the comforting familiarity of her kitchen. But something stopped her.
It wasn’t only Beth’s presence that caught Raisa off guard; it was the way she carried herself. Her shoulders, usually squared with an air of superiority, were now hunched as if she was bracing herself for a harsh blow. She lingered just inside the doorway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She clutched her purse’s strap like it might slip away if she didn’t hold on tightly.
She darted her gaze around like a butterfly incapable of deciding which flower to land on, before stopping on Raisa. There was something in her expression that Raisa couldn’t place—something tentative, almost… vulnerable.
Raisa shifted the books to her other arm, narrowing her eyes as she waited for Beth to approach. This wasn’t the confident, cutting woman she’d come to expect. It was almost as if Beth wasn’t sure she belonged here. Against her better judgment, Raisa stayed where she was, curiosity rooting her to the spot.
“I need to talk to you.” Beth spoke quieter than usual, the snarky edge gone and replaced with something fragile.
Bracing herself for what was to come from her nemesis, Raisa lowered the books to a shelf and folded her arms. “About what?”
Beth glanced around, hesitating until Raisa motioned to one of the small tables near the window. They sat, the awkward silence stretching between them until Beth blurted, “I was awful to you. I mean, I know that’s not news, but… I need you to understand why.”
Raisa arched a brow but said nothing, waiting.
Beth swallowed hard. “I was jealous. Of you.” Her voice broke slightly, and Raisa’s breath hitched. Beth continued before Raisa could process the admission. “You’re beautiful. You always were. And you’re smart. Like, scary smart. The kind of smart that makes people feel small just by being near you.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh, brushing a hand through her blond hair. “I never developed. Not really. Still wearing the same damn bra size I was in high school. Do you know how that feels? Being the cheerleader who has to stuff her bra and pray no one notices?”
Raisa blinked. Was she seriously still hung up on that? In her thirties?
Beth looked down at her hands. “I’ve always hated that insecurity about myself. And then you walked in with your curves and your smarts, and it was just… too much. I felt threatened. I lashed out because it made me feel powerful, but it wasn’t. It was pathetic.” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Raisa. For everything.”
Raisa stared at her for a long moment, the weight of Beth’s words settling over her. After a short deliberation, she nodded. “Thank you for saying that.”
